Leliana of Cyrodiil
by domosaurusrex
Summary: Ripped from her home seemingly by a tornado, Leliana lands smack in the middle, or actually the beginning, of the Oblivion crisis—right in the Imperial Prison. Awestruck and awkward, young Lelly must maneuver her way through goblins, daedra, and dungeons in order to save Tamriel from the evil clutches of Oblivion and Mehrunes Dagon. Eventual MartinxHoK - rated M for language


The loud winds and pouring rain swirled violently around my feeble shack of a home. The storm had reached my neighborhood several hours ago and I was certain that the eye was not that far away.

I had been told that Irma was headed for Miami; that, yes, we were going to be facing a terrible storm and should prepare for it, but evacuation was not necessary for those of us closer to Tampa.

But the hurricane shifted.

And I lived in Plant City. In a cheap single-wide mobile home.

I knew my home wouldn't survive the Atlantic's largest recorded hurricane. I had no delusions of hope that it would. But it's not like I could pack my meager belongings and hike up north. There's a fucking _hurricane_ outside.

I'm not angry with the meteorologists for getting this wrong. I know that it's impossible to accurately predict a storm's path. But that doesn't mean I'm not scared out of my fucking mind that I'm going to die in this storm.

The sound of a window shattering in a nearby room broke me out of my current state of panic-and sent me spiraling into an even bigger one. I stifled a childish whimper and clutched my thick blanket tighter around me, attempting to conjure a false sense of security from it. I was huddled in the bathtub of my tiny bathroom on a makeshift bed of blankets and pillows. I lived alone and therefore was riding this storm out by myself. There were no windows in my bathroom, so I decided it would be my hideout. But I didn't really feel all that safe, which is why I was such an anxious mess.

Mere moments later, my roof began shaking uncontrollably, sending crippling fear throughout my entire body. I watched in absolute horror as the fierce winds tore away one of my few barriers against this hellish storm, flinging it away to God knows where. I screamed and ducked low into my blanket pile as the winds caught my toiletries, causing them to fly up and into the walls around me. I then chanced a glance up from under my blanket and then I saw it.

A terrifyingly tall tornado headed straight for my house.

I froze in place, watching the cyclone propel itself closer to me, knowing that there was no chance in hell I'd be able to escape this. This was it. This was how it'd all end for me. I was going to die violently, at age 20, in a tornado. I suppose it's a pretty epic way to go, but I could think of better ways. Like in my sleep. Or drunk. Or both. Preferably both.

I was pulled out of my badly timed musings when the tornado reached my house, ripping it to shreds. I watched in fascinated terror as it destroyed everything I owned. As it neared closer to me, I squeezed my eyes shut and hunkered down into my soft pile, hoping my end would be quick and with minimal pain.

I felt myself lift up a bit and stiffened, waiting for something huge to slam into me and knock me out cold. But instead of being rammed into another object, I started falling. And falling and falling and falling.

I realized I was falling much farther than I realistically should've been, considering I hadn't even risen that far up from my bathtub. I opened my eyes to see what the fuck was going on only to see pitch blackness all around me. I folded in on myself to prepare for the landing, one that I wasn't even sure was going to happen because I had no idea what the actual fuck was even happening to me.

Abruptly, I landed on a hard surface with the force of someone falling out of bed. I slowly raised my head up, dizzy as fuck, and looked around. As my swimming vision cleared up, I took notice of a torch on the stone wall giving a faint light to whatever room I was in. I pushed myself up to a sitting position and felt straw or hay or whatever on what appeared to be a stone ground. I lowered my head and closed my eyes, sighing deeply.

 _What the actual, living fuck just happened?_

I searched my body with my hands and noticed I was surprisingly dry, yet somehow still wearing my jeans, lame-ass Zelda triforce t-shirt, and black converse that I was wearing in the storm.

I unsteadily stood, and tried to get my bearings on where I was. Looking to my left, I saw a shitty table and chair with an equally shitty plate, cup, and pitcher. Looking across the room, I noticed iron or steel looking bars blocking my exit. What the-was I in a _prison cell_? What the fuck _for_?!

I walked up to the bars, wondering if this was all a dream. When I gripped the cold bars, and felt the metallic rust bite my skin, I knew this was not a dream.

"Oooh, aren't you a fair lass."

Da fuq?

"Your skin is so pale, so pure. And your body is so...strong. Let me guess; a Nord, right?"

I looked up in confusion to see a startlingly dark, elf-looking person in a cell across from mine. And what did he just call me?

"I bet you think you're pretty tough, huh? I bet you can swing a sword and everything."

I stared at him in blank confusion. A sword? I can't even swing my fists.

"Well, it doesn't matter! Not in here. It does no good to fight. But don't worry. The guards always treat the pretty ones nice. Right 'til the end. Oh, that's right. You're going to die in here, Nord!"

Well isn't he just a ray of fucking sunshine.

And what the fuck is a Nord?

The sound of voices and footsteps came from somewhere beyond the cells, momentarily distracting my taunter. He turned back to me with a smirk. "You hear that? The guards are coming. For you!" He let out a maniacal laugh and walked away from the bars deeper into his cell.

"My sons...they're dead aren't they?" A quiet and old yet regal voice spoke over the loud, metal footsteps.

"We don't know that, sire," A stern woman gently responded. "The messenger only said they were attacked."

"Oh, they're dead. I know it."

"We don't know it," she replied sharply. "My job right now is to get you to safety."

They paused in front of my cell. "What's this prisoner doing here?" The woman pointed a finger at me. "This cell is supposed to be off limits." Man, don't ask me, I got no idea why the fuck I'm in here.

"Uh, usual mix up with the Watch, I-"

She held up her hand to silence him. "Nevermind. Get that gate open."

She lowered her hand and glared at me. "Stand back, prisoner. By the window. We won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way."

I swallowed back curse words and made my way back to the window, knowing that that sword hanging at her side likely wasn't a mere accessory. They walked into my cell, towards what looked like a sorry excuse for a bed, when the old, regal guy turned to me with an awestruck look in his eyes. "You. I've seen you."

U wot m8?

"Let me see your face." He stepped closer to me. "You are the one from my dreams. Then the stars were right. And this is the day...gods give me strength."

I was sure my face showed my complete confusion. "Okay...what's going on?"

"Assassins attacked my sons, and I'm next. My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route," he explained. "By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell."

Oh. Well that makes perfect sense, I guess. Except for I have no idea what half of that means.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I am your emperor, Uriel Septim. By the grace of the Gods, I serve Tamriel as her ruler. You are a citizen of Tamriel, and you, too, shall serve her in your own way."

Tamriel? Uriel Sept-holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

Uriel Septim as in emperor from the Elder Scrolls games? What the fuck?

My older brother had been an Elder Scrolls fanatic, having played Arena up to Skyrim and I was certain he played Elder Scrolls Online as well. I had never been much into the series myself, only messing with the games every now and then just to see what they were like. My brother spoke of the games a lot like a total fangirl, so I knew the gist of each game's plot line. Sort of.

So, if Uriel Septim is talking to me about assassinations...that means I'm in Cyrodiil. In the goddamn plot of Oblivion. How the actual fuck. I guess it's better than dying in a tornado but still. _How?_

"What...what am I _doing_ here?" I asked frantically.

Uriel remained calm, seemingly aware of my conundrum. "Perhaps the gods have placed you here so we may meet."

Well that doesn't help me. "...okay, but what am I supposed to do?"

"You will find your own path. Take care...there will be blood and death before the end," he answered grimly.

The woman leading their party pressed a stone on the wall near the bed, triggering some sort of mechanism that moved the wall to the side, revealing a walkway. "Please, sire, we must keep moving," she urged.

A dark-skinned dude, a Redguard I realized, walked up to me with a smirk. "Looks like this is your lucky day. Just stay out of our way."

Lucky? I wouldn't consider this lucky.

 _How the fuck did this happen to me?_


End file.
